


we don't pray for love

by orphan_account



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate universe- everyone is over 18, Anal Sex, Cock Sucking, M/M, Public Sex, exhibtionism, they happen at the same time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9315242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: K exits the Mitsu rubbing at his nose and Ronan exits the other side.Now look at me, Proko thinks.Stop looking at Ronan, he thinks as Joey rounds the hood of the Mitsu.Come here, he begs with his mind, come kiss me and show him I'm yours and that you're- Proko's breath catches -not mine.K has Ronan Lynch backed up to the grill of the Mitsu and his tongue in Ronan’s mouth. They kiss like they're fighting; against each other or for each other Proko does not know, but the wildfire turns to ice.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FalseCamaro (Gandalfgirl579)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gandalfgirl579/gifts).



> This is sparsely edited and a gift for pr0ko on tumblr for As Dreamers Do :) I hope you like it.

Prokopenko thinks he might actually be seething. 

He doesn't really ever get angry, at least he didn't, he'd only ever felt the sense of self destructiveness that drove people to hang around with K, begging to be burned. He'd found himself there easily, drawn to K’s brushing hands and venomous promises to truly fuck him up.

Maybe K had finally succeeded in driving Proko to the edge of sanity and over- and K wasn't even touching him.

But maybe that's the problem, Proko thinks venomously, K’s touching someone else.

Joseph Kavinsky could be seen as a vague shape through the widow of his white Mitsubishi, and another vague shape twisted his watery figure even more. Lynch.

Lit up by the huge bonfire several yards away a light sheen of sweat was forming on Proko’s temples and the column of his throat. The firework flashes that came from all directions did nothing to help his focus, his brain floating in a jealousturnedonfuckLynchfuckme haze as he watched their silhouettes move inside the Mitsu.

They weren't close enough to be kissing and not in the right position to be fucking, but Proko could interpret Kavinsky’s movements after so many years, and knew he was flirting with Ronan in his biting way. He could also practically see Ronan being pulled into his orbit closer closer- too close.

Proko’s entire focus stays on the Mitsu, not the party around him. The music rippling over the fairgrounds couldn't entertain him less, he only has eyes for the crack of Lynch’s door, waiting for it to open so he could take Lynch’s place, waiting for it to open so he’d leave, waiting for K to move out of Ronan’s orbit and come back.

Finally the door cracks open and he breathes out a sigh of relief, shifting uncomfortably. Seeing K flirting with the other guys sends his blood warm, but flirting with fucking Ronan Lynch sets of a wildfire in his chest and Kavinsky knows this. 

K exits the Mitsu rubbing at his nose and Ronan exits the other side.

Now look at me, Proko thinks.

Stop looking at Ronan, he thinks as Joey rounds the hood of the Mitsu.

Come here, he begs with his mind, come kiss me and show him I'm yours and that you're- Proko's breath catches -not mine.

K has Ronan Lynch backed up to the grill of the Mitsu and his tongue in Ronan’s mouth. They kiss like they're fighting; against each other or for each other Proko does not know, but the wildfire turns to ice. 

He whirls around looking, because Joey had never made him watch that before, and so he's looking looking looking-

He sees Swan splayed out on the hood of a red convertible, his jeans low and his shirt off in response to the heat of the bonfire and the summer night. A necklace with the tooth he knocked out of Jiang’s mouth when they first met sits on his dark skin almost over his heart. He's so pretty, a delicate little thing, but he rules the circle of boys around him and lounges across the car like it's his throne. It might as well be. 

Proko moves for him, away from K, flirting around people, warm bodies lit up by the flashing of the fireworks and the flickering light of the bonfire, and feeling pleasure begging to move up his spine again as people reach out to touch him. He'd forgotten, in such a short amount of time, about this warm languid pleasure and that it existed. But the touch of errant hands on him warms it and loosens it like a syrup, sending it warmly through him. It's like a dream, him walking through the crowd and hands mindlessly reach out to skim his ribs where they show through the sides of his tank, nails scrape his arms, fingers pinch his ass. 

He emerges from the swell of people and almost falls right into Swan’s lap.

Swan looks a little drunk and the joint in his hand says he's a little high, but he smiles at Proko the same way he always does. His tongue stud flashes as he speaks and his accent from somewhere-southern caresses his words. Proko himself is a little drunk and buzzed off jealousy so he doesn't expend the energy to remember where.

“Proko, Proko, Prokopenko,” Swan hums, rolling the r’s unnecessarily and lengthily. Proko smiles and slides between his legs as Swan sits up. His face twists in concern and Proko almost groans in frustration. 

Go back to relaxed, he thinks, go back to the inviting smile and suggestive eyes. 

“What's up,” he asks close to Proko’s ear, loud to be heard over Skov’s thumping sex-montage music, and a thumb wipes a single tear, the single tear, from below Proko’s eye. Proko just smiles and tilts his head to press his lips to the pierced lobe of Swan’s ear. 

“He's pissing me off,” Proko croons and Swan jumps in surprise.

“He's pissing me off and he's making me jealous, which means I'm so hard I can't breathe,” Proko says as conversationally as he can while speaking loudly and sliding a hand over Swan’s thigh. Swan shudders. 

“I want to suck you off right here on the hood of this car,” he adds after a second and slides his hand so high on Swan’s thigh that Swan gasps.

“K will kill me and he'll beat the fuck out of you. Not that you'd mind,” Swan adds the last bit so quietly Proko almost doesn't catch it.

“No I wouldn't,” Proko agrees, “and I definitely wouldn't mind him getting off his knees in front of Ronan fucking Lynch to do it,” he adds sourly. Swans head jerks to look and Proko has to look too. 

K’s lips are on Ronan's neck and Ronan appears to be swearing at him, snarling at him, but his hands are at his sides scrabbling for purchase on the Mitsubishi. K's hand is rolling over the crotch of Ronan's pants and Proko has to look away.

“What about that Parrish kid?” Swan says and honestly Proko could hit him. He slides his hand up and to the right, pressing down, and Swan gasps, then groans lowly in his ear.

“They broke up, they'll get back together in a week, and I don't want to have words in my mouth anymore,” Proko prompts and with a last glance at K Swan moves his hands for his fly.

“Yes,” Proko hisses briefly but Swan’s hand come up into his hair and pushes his head down. It's not enough to do anything except assert enough dominance over Prokopenko that he whimpers and goes pliant. 

Swan doesn't slide down the car to stand, like Proko thought he would, instead sliding back so Proko’s chest is parallel to the hood of the car between his legs. Proko’s cock throbs as this efficiently bends him over the hood of the car, his ass on display. 

Let K see, Proko thinks, and he tries to think it snidely, but the thought makes Proko tremble with need as he slides his hands up Swan’s thighs and hooks his fingers on the low waist of his tight jeans. Swan lifts himself so Proko can pull his jeans and boxers down to mid thigh. He brushes his lips over Swan’s thighs, probably teasing himself more than he's teasing Swan with how much he wants Swan’s cock in his mouth. 

Swan has both hands on the hood of the car, but when Proko prods his thighs with the tips of his fingers he lifts them so Proko can slide his hands under them, palm down. It might look awkward but when Swan relaxes Proko’s hands are sufficiently pinned to the hood of the car and it makes him sigh pleasantly. Swan moves one of his hands, wrapping it around his cock. Proko looks up at him and his eyes flutter closed when Swan brings his other hand up, his dark nimble fingers weaving through Prokopenko’s hair, and pulls him forward. Proko lets Swan’s cock pass his lips with a kind of reverence and a heady kind of guilt. He hopes, again, for K to look. 

The roaring noise in his ears could be his blood, or all the people and the loud music, but he doesn't fucking care. He's so hard it hurts and Swan has a hand tight in his hair and his cock is heavy on Proko’s tongue. Proko moans around Swan’s cock and Swan’s hand convulses, tightening as Proko’s eyes water and making an aborted motion to push his head down. He hears Swan’s cursing weave through the music, and as much as he wants Swan to fuck his face, fast and dirty, he also wants as many people as possible to see.

Not just K looking on now, he thinks and the idea makes him dizzy. 

He pulls back to suckle on the head of Swan’s cock, then pulls back to just flick the slit with his tongue a few times before Swan loses patience, pulls his hair, and he goes back down. 

He's moaning, he knows as he relaxes his throat and goes down down down, but it seems far away in the face of the noises of the people around them. People, people as in people who can clearly see him sucking cock, a cock that isn't Kavinsky's no less. His skin seems too tight and tingly to be real. People are making all kinds of noise around him- Skov with his music, yelling to their friends, cheering as someone throws alcohol on a smaller fire they've made to watch it flare up, screaming just to scream. He imagines their eyes, can feel heavy gazes pass over his ass and bore into the back of his head. He whines high in his throat and presses his hips forward into the side of the car. 

Fingers dig into his hips suddenly and it hurts and he moans, snapping his hips forward into he car but then shoving his ass back because he knows those hands, the curl of fingers into claws. He knows the one that disappears and reappears in his hair, gripping him so tight his scalp burns and a few hair pop free under the merciless grip. Kavinsky pulls him up and back, bending him slightly backwards until his back is pressed to Kavinsky’s chest and K’s furious voice growls into his ear, making him shake.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing,” Joey hisses in his ear and he sounds so angry; Proko’s hips jerk forward and K reaches around to put his palm flat on Proko’s cock and grind the heel of his hand down. Prokopenko whines high in his throat and thrashes, mostly to increase the pressure on his cock and his scalp. Kavinsky's grip tightens suddenly and he freezes, doesn't move a muscle.

“I said,” K speaks slowly, “what the fuck do you think you're doing?” Proko moans and looks at Swan with hooded eyes. Swan is watching them, a loose hand wrapped around his cock and his pupils wide. The fucking joint is still between his lips and he takes a drag, moves forward, and exhales the smoke into Proko’s willing mouth. K’s hand slides from his hair to his throat, feeling the delicate skin barely tremble with his inhale. When Proko holds the smoke for a second K’s grip tightens and he moves until they're flush together, rubbing his clothed cock against Proko’s ass. Proko exhales the smoke and K’s grip loosens.

“Sucking cock,” he says, his voice croaking. K’s teeth skim his throat and he presses forward, his cock hard against Proko’s ass and Proko’s cock against his hand and the side of the car between Swan’s knees. 

“Whose cock?” K purrs, lathing his tongue over a spot that makes Proko whimper. When Proko inhales shakily to reply K sinks his teeth in and Proko’s hips jerk as a high needy “ah!” leaves his mouth.

“Swan’s,” Proko breathes after a beat, whining high and loud again. K sucks hard in the spot, releases the stinging patch of skin, and searches for another. A firework screams somewhere that's probably close but sounds so far away.

“Do you want to keep sucking his cock baby?” K asks and this makes Proko pause. He thought K would come over here, he thought he'd be mad, he thought K might actually beat the shit out of him, he thought it was more likely K would take him away and fuck him. This was not on the list of possible outcomes but-

“Yes,” he breathes out heavily and K’s razor-sharp smile curves against his neck. Then K releases him completely and the sudden rush of non-Kavinsky scented air makes him dizzy until a rough hand on the back of his neck shoves him forward. 

Swan’s cock comes into his line of sight, encircled by a dark delicate hand. It's easy, so easy, to brush his lower lip over the head, to slide his hands back under Swan's thighs, to moan as his tongue darts out after a couple beads of precum, and to finally close his lips over the head and slide down. He relaxes his throat again and takes him deep. He doesn't realize K’s hand in his hair has left and been replaced by Swan’s. He distantly notices the hand moving from the front of his pants and it makes a pang of confusing go through him until-

His knees actually buckle, so it's good his chest is nearly touching the car and that a steadying hand is tight in his hair. 

Kavinsky’s missing hands have reappeared at his hips and caught in his waistband, yanking his jeans and boxers down in one go. It hits him again in a dizzying wave that his ass is in display, each of Kavinsky’s hands on a cheek in front of a crowd that has probably realizes sometime in the last few minutes that he’s sucking Swan’s cock. He’s so hard it hurts and he's sure the red curve of his cock looks obscene, that K’s hands spreading his cheeks and brushing a thumb over his hole look doubly so. He's two seconds from coming all over the side of this nice red convertible. 

“He's gonna fuck you,” Swan says and there might be awe in his voice. Proko actually has to pull back and suckle at the head of his cock to gather his thoughts as lube-slick fingers press at his hole. He shocks himself by letting out a needy sob, and he pushes back as if K needed any encouragement. Swan’s hand loosens in his hair and simply cards gently through it a few times. Proko slides back down with a sigh.

K’s finger slips in easily, he'd fucked Proko a few hours ago before they got here, and the second finger goes in with little struggle. K scissors and curls his fingers and Proko can't take it, pulling off of Swan’s cock again to push back and moan loudly. K says something and Swan’s hand tightens in his hair again, dragging him forward and recalling the burn on Proko’s scalp. He doesn't push Proko back onto his cock though, instead holds him with just his lips pressed to the tip of his cock. He holds Proko still when he tries to take Swan in his mouth so Proko holds himself up, pushing his tongue out to circle the head.

Prokos brain is fuzzy, spotty at best, and K has added a third finger at some point, but he's just taken all his fingers out, making Proko whine,and then his cock is pushing in, making Proko shout.

There's tears on his cheeks and spit on his chin but Proko doesn't think- doesn't think at all. He can't think, his head is full of white noise as K snaps his hips hard and Swan’s hand in his hair tightens. 

Swan doesn't push his head back down, bringing his own hand up to wrap around his cock and stroke himself painfully slow. Proko’s been hard for so long and his cock hangs heavy between his legs as Kavinsky’s cock brushes his prostate. His fingers had purposefully avoided it, which he did with Prokopenko a lot, and Proko’s eyes roll back in his head-

Amazingly, one loud voice filters through the white noise.

“Fuck look at him!” Calls a man in an incredulous cackle.

“Didn't know Prokopenko was such a cock slu-”

Proko’s vision goes spotty and he almost rips out some of his hair as he pulls against Swan’s grip to get his cock in his mouth as he comes hard. He's too fast and he chokes, but he doesn't care as his lips meet Swan’s fingers and he trembles, his orgasm ripping him apart. 

Swan responds with a choked off moan, pulling Proko up and off, and then he's coming.

White streaks out of Swan’s cock and Proko is so close that a lot lands on his lips, some falling back to drape over Swan’s cock. It's softening, but Proko puts his mouth on one more time despite Swan’s gentle tugging at his hair to lick the last of the come off. He's still buzzing from his orgasm when hips stutter against his ass and K thrusts into Proko hard, coming while Swan wiggles out from under Proko and Proko slumps forward to let himself be used. The thought sends another wave of pleasure through him. 

He doesn't note a passage of time before he's being manhandled to turn around, his pants are being pulled up despite come still being in and on his ass, and Kavinsky's lips are on his. He tastes like alcohol and something else, but Proko let's himself be carried away in a wave of Kavinsky kissing the come off his face and snarling “you're fucking mine what the fuck were you thinking,” as he tightens a hand with just the right pressure around Proko’s throat and kisses him messily, Swan’s come on both their lips and K bites Proko’s red. Someone wolf whistles which, considering everything, seems relatively tame and unembarrassing at the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> check my bio for my tumblr


End file.
